Of Revenge and Felpebbles
by White Phantom
Summary: Laerorith Firebough is not the brightest managem in the cluster, but she's as loyal as anyone with memory problems can be. And now? Now she's out to prove just how wrong her friends are when they assume that they can't rely on her because of her nature. Rated T for violence. Reviews are much loved.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft.

A/N: So. This is one of my RP characters in The Magpie's Folly. She's been away for a while, so I decided to do a story to explain where she's been. It's probably only gonna be two parts, maaaaybe three. I tried to get inside her head for this fic, and I'm not so sure that's a good thing, in this case. But! Reviews are loved, and most welcome.

…-…

Lately it seemed that the world was just so much darker and grimmer than Laerorith Firebough remembered it had been when she was a child.

Well, of what little she could remember.

Admittedly, it wasn't much.

Generally speaking, the only real memory she had back when she'd been small enough for her father to hoist her up and rest her on his shoulder was of him doing just that. She could remember her tiny hands reaching high over her head as a butterfly fluttered aimlessly just out of reach, unconcerned with her childlike wonder.

The world needed more butterflies.

Or just shiny objects.

Or shinyflies.

She felt a tug on her hair as the wind whipped past her in an almost violent frenzy. When the air had stilled, she felt another tug on her head and then another. She looked up from the abysmal masses of gray rock below to see her faithful dragonhawk, Lord Flutterkins, was nibbling on the end of her orange ponytail. Her brow scrunched down behind her engineering goggles, their quiet hum of gears whirring the only thing to interrupt the silence between rider and mount.

Lord Flutterkins finally let go of her hair and flapped his great wings once to put a bit of distance between them, as though such a little action would make her forget what he'd just done.

Laerorith narrowed her eyes at him and then looked around. She was standing on a natural rock bridge across a thin chasm with a tiny stream winding its way through the rock miles below. Fog had crept over everything, making it hard to see anything clearly, but on either side of her bridge, a dusty, forgotten path wound its way through spires of jagged, grumpy looking rocks that looked like broken teeth trying desperately to gnaw on clouds.

Pity they'd never reach them.

She paused.

There was a reason she was here, and it was most definitely not to sympathize with inanimate objects. She started to scratch her head—why the fel was it so itchy?—but quickly forgot about alleviating her itch when she noticed half a dozen words scribbled in ink—and possibly one or two in blood—across her gauntlet.

When had she taken to making notes on her armor?

Granted, it was genius. After all, it wasn't like she lost her clothes like she did scraps of paper…most of the time.

Tapping her goggles so that the long distance lense slipped up, she read over the different scribbles.

_Northrend._

Well, that had already happened. She was pretty sure.

Mostly sure.

Had it?

She lifted her gaze to look around. She was definitely not in Northrend at the moment. There were very angry, broken rocks around her and, while Northrend had places that could be unforgiving and unfriendly, she was fairly certain that it was too warm here to be that snowy wasteland.

_Dinner with family_ was the next note.

She could remember her father's disappointed frown as he asked her what she was doing with her life and was fairly certain that that was from her dinner. If not, it was an excuse not to go back and to miss the current one.

She frowned. Writing on her armor was not as brilliant as she'd thought. Almost—if not all of her messages were from things in the past, or things she didn't really care about.

Her head itched horribly and she reached up to scratch it again, pausing when an arrow on the side of her gauntlet caught her attention. She turned her arm and saw written in big, angry letters.

_HUNT FOR AZREAL'S TORMENTORY PERSON_

Striking her plated fist into her other hand, she glared back at her angry, desolate surroundings. That's what she was doing. She was avenging Azzi for…for…

She checked her armor to see if it gave her a hint and when she found it did not, she tried to remember. As she concentrated, her world swam and little, and the itching in her head got worse.

Laerorith wasn't sure how long it was until she was able to focus again, but when she did she found she was on the ground, gasping in dirt. Coughing, she pushed herself up and groaned between gagging. That wasn't fun.

Lord Flutterkins was hovering dutifully over her. He was such a good, loyal mount. So loving and…

And she felt like she had a reason to be mad at him, but couldn't for the life of her remember what it was.

Dismissing the notion, she pushed herself up onto her knees and looked around. She was on a land bridge, over a gaping chasm with a lonely little stream winding its way below. She wondered if it got company often. Likely, the only people who would ever go down there would be the foolish or the desperate. She doubted anyone would care much for that kind of company, even a stream.

Laerorith surveyed the spiky rocks around her with growing awe—it always amazed her to find geographical locations that could look so angry.

Her head itched.

Reaching up, she tried to scratch it and let out a low hiss as a sharp pain lanced through her skull. When she pulled her fingers away, they were covered with flecks of dried blood.

What had happened?

She looked to her faithful dragonhawk for guidance, but the creature merely made a few worried clicks and flew over her in a tight circle, dipping low enough that its wings fanned her like a cool breeze.

As she sat there, wondering just when she'd decided to go on a trip to such a desolate place—those rocks would be glaring if they had eyes—she noticed blood on her plated fingers and tilted her head.

Was she bleeding somewhere?

Her head itched, but rather than scratch it, she swung her bag off her shoulder. The latches on her satchel were in much better condition than her armor and the gleamed brightly up at her. Even with her goggles on, she had to close her eyes. So bright.

How could it be so bright through so much fog?

Managing to unclasp the latches with her eyes still closed, she rummaged around in her bags and smiled when she found a little totem. Azriso had given it to her, forever ago when they'd first me. She doubted it had any magic in it; even if it did, she wouldn't be able to use it. It was pretty, though.

Azzizil was a good friend.

She'd keep him safe. Him and Roisise. She was a tank. Protecting people, taking the blows for them, that was what she did.

Except she hadn't.

He'd been hurt, hadn't he? Because she hadn't been there.

Why?

She tried to remember, but it just made her head throb. Thinking had never been her strong suite, but she had the vaguest notion that things were worse than usual.

Why did her surroundings have to look so bland? And aggravated?

It made _her_ aggravated.

She wished she could fight something. Things were so much simpler in battle. She didn't have to think. Her body knew how to react, how to parry and thrust. How to dodge. How to intervene.

Feeling a small swell of rage, she remembered that she'd come here to fight someone. To make someone pay for something they'd done.

However, when she looked around, all she saw was a dragonhawk which fluttered around her with an endeared expression. She didn't want to hurt something so sweet.

Her rage wavered and disappeared.

She clenched her hand slightly and felt something threaten to break in her gauntlet. Looking down, Laerorith paled. A few hairline fractures interrupted the smooth wooden surface of her totem. Azala had given it to her. She couldn't break it.

Dropping it back into her pack, she squeezed her eyes shut until she could will back her purpose. Why was she here? Her guild had gone to ask about a book, and she'd asked about who had hurt Asizal. He'd been hurt because of the book.

He was here. Somewhere. She thought. Someone had told her to come down here.

Azzi would be avenged.

She'd help him, and then he'd see. He'd know he could depend on her.

She was a tank, and healers didn't just go anywhere without protection. He'd rely on her more. Next time he had to go somewhere, it wouldn't be alone. That wasn't safe.

The wind whipped past her, and she near felt herself scoot a few inches toward the edge of the ravine. Blinking, she wondered why a bunch of rock would be rocking as though it were in the middle of the ocean. Or perhaps she was the one swimming?

Looking down proved that no, she was in fact not in water. Instead, she was on some bridge, her bags opened and half rifled through.

Her head itched.

Dropping her totem—Asa had given it to her—back in with her blacksmithing and engineering tools, she finally found what she'd been looking for. It was a small vial filled with reddish liquid, almost the color of blood. A note had been stuck to it that read, 'healing potion'.

She uncorked it and gulped it down. The fog around the edges of her vision became lighter, and she absently considered that she must have another concussion. Where had this one come from? She couldn't remember falling off of anything. Honestly, since she'd gotten Lord Flutterkins, he tended to help her with her occasional bouts of injury-induced clumsiness.

After a moment, the visage of an angry human man flashed through her head. It was followed by another image of her sword in his stomach and then…

He must have had a friend.

She smirked as she considered that she obviously won that match, even if she couldn't remember it.

Stupid Alliance.

Making sure that she had everything in her bag, she paused a second. She was definitely feeling better, but obviously the damage done wasn't completely gone. That she'd had to stop for a potion made her wonder how bad her injury was. She ran her fingers through her hair, knocking her ponytail loose. When she brought her hands back, her gauntlets had flakes of dried blood on them, but nothing fresh.

So she wasn't bleeding anymore.

Externally.

Why wasn't Azzi here? He always helped with this stuff.

She would have to bring him some flowers. Shamans liked flowers, didn't they? Or was that druids? It seemed like they both could. She liked flowers.

They attracted butterflies.

She liked those.

But then, she was a warrior, so that didn't exactly settle her shaman/druid debate.

Even as she decided that only mean people didn't like being able to look at colorful, pretty plants, she rose to her feet, a bit too quickly.

The world rocked and spun violently. Even as she blinked behind her goggles, the wind rushed past her. This time, however, it wasn't a passing breeze. It whipped at her shoulder-length hair, letting it steam in dirty locks up toward the sky.

The sky.

Why was she looking up?

Even as she noticed the rock bridge growing increasingly smaller above her, she slammed into something firm, and the air flew from her lungs.

Lord Flutterkins nearly dropped her, but twisted his body one way and then the other until she managed to grip his saddle. He let out a grunt as he maintained his height in the air, about halfway between the river and the bridge.

The water gurgled anxiously below as Laerorith finally pulled herself up and swung a leg over the back of her steed. It was damned lucky that fall hadn't broken her back.

Damned lucky it hadn't hurt either of them. She'd have to get Lord Flutterkins a special grooming when they went back to Silvermoon.

Her mount hadn't made a move to fly anywhere, instead doing his best to inspect her from over his shoulder.

"Ohmilight, who's the bestest, most beautiful, dragon-y hawk in the whole world?" She cooed at him, leaning forward and hugging his neck. The creature relaxed beneath her, his body still rocking through the motion needed to keep them in flight. The rest of the world wanted to tilt in other directions, and Laerorith let out a gasp before leaning away from her mount and throwing up.

When she was done gagging and had wiped her mouth, she caught another word on the back of her gauntlet. It was a little smudged, but still readable beneath the crud on her armor.

_Karazhan._

That was where she was going.

Rummaging precariously through her things, she nearly dropped a wrench from her bags—and nearly herself from her mount as she struggled to catch it before it was lost to her—and pulled out another healing potion.

She didn't like using them so frequently—after all, she didn't carry around nearly as many as she ought to—but with her world swimming the way it was, she wasn't going to be able to do much of anything productive.

And that would be counterproductive.

She was out there to prove that she wasn't as unreliable as people seemed to think. She'd find the bastard who hurt Azazo and make him pay. Then not only would her trollish healer have to admit that she was worth bringing along on important missions for the guild, but so too would the rest of them see that she could be trusted with such things.

After all, she was a tank. If people didn't rely on her, what would be the point?

The world finally stopped moving and Laerorith urged Lord Flutterkins forward. She had a villain to vanquish.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Oh, I should probably mention this: any name that starts with an A is Azreal, and any name that starts with an R is Roisene. Lae can't keep names straight to save her life.

…-…

The bosses of Karazhan had been defeated a long time ago—by valiant heroes, no doubt—and in its place a great void had settled.

Each step seemed to echo through the whole castle, whispering back that there was someone just around the corner, something waiting at the top of the stairs. The wind whispered through invisible cracks in the mortar and windows, caressing cheeks like the breath of a secret. Many of the lights had sputtered out a long time ago, and the few that remained, in open defiance to the darkness creeping in, flickered with a desperate will to not be forgotten.

Mold spread across the wall in gentle spirals, different colors blooming softly against the dark gray of the walls. If Laerorith squinted, she could almost picture flowers there.

It was always nice how all that nature-y stuff liked to make things prettier.

Whoever had told her that the bastard she was looking for had come to hide out here had been wrong. No one had been here in a long time. Had they? Part of her wanted to leave, noting that her footprints in the crumbled dirt and dust were the only fresh ones, but if she went back now, it would be admitting that she couldn't be relied on after all. No, she would search the entire castle if she needed to. She'd find clues, something to guide her hand to justice.

They would see that she was good at what she did. She was worth keeping around, worth including in secret plans and important missions.

She shivered at her own thoughts and tried to get lost in her surroundings. Usually, such dreary thoughts left her quickly, even in Pandaria where emotions ruled everything, but it seemed that in the last few weeks they'd been piling up, growing stronger.

Once, this place had been grand and beautiful on its own. Now cobwebs outnumbered drapes and that impossible wind fluttered them like sheets of gauze. However, even they were covered in dust, their masters having been slain years ago.

The last time Laerorith had been here, it had been with Roilito and Azazi. With her guild leader and favorite healer in tow, this place had seemed so much more…alive. Granted, more of the candles had been around—that they'd lasted this long had to be some sort of magic—and even as they'd pilfered the rooms, there had been laughter to fill up that emptiness.

Well, she'd been laughing.

Hadn't she?

Laerorith reached up to touch her head and make sure she wasn't still bleeding. Somehow, this place was different, and it was as though its changes were sweeping backwards. Laerorith peered into a side chamber where she was fairly certain they'd been joking around.

However, instead of the memory she so cherished, she could see all three of them in that room, the candles glowing with an oddly green tinge to them. There she was, scaling the bookshelves to get something that looked promising—and shiny. Roinenne stood at the bottom of the shelf, pinching the bridge of what was left of her nose, a grimace in place as a few books crashed to the ground. Azrit sighed as he leaned against a chair, flipping through his spell book, bored, anticipating what would happen next.

As Laerorith fell, trinket in hand, Rotori simply turned away. Alizos muttered a healing spell before skirting around her, not even giving her trophy a glance as he followed their guild leader.

The images faded. Jerking back a step, Laerorith suddenly noticed just how dark the halls had gotten. She jerked her goggles from her hairline where they left her bangs poking up in random directions and back onto her face. The world was bathed in unnatural colors as the goggles analyzed everything.

She felt relieved as numbers and shorthand words filled her vision.

Somehow, despite all her bumps to the head—and slashes and what-have-you—she could always remember her skills. Blacksmithing, engineering, fishing. Some of it was muscle memory, but some of it…even she could admit that her memory was utterly atrocious. Yet somehow these simple things remained with her.

Well, simply complex, maybe.

As she made her way up the next corridor, past the place where a giant arcane guardian lay broken, its rust staining the carpet and old stone beneath it, her goggles began to fritz. Something caught in the gears on the side, and they clacked against one another, followed quickly by a threatening hiss that implied the stall had disrupted something inside.

Laerorith jerked her goggles off and nearly screamed as she came face to face with a pair of glowing yellow-green eyes. Even as she jerked her shield up in front of her and shoved it forward, she realized it was Roilila.

Her shield slam pass through the spectral image of her guild leader and carried her through it as well. As she staggered, her skin prickling and cold where it had touched the apparition—or whatever it was—she looked back and saw that another memory had begun to play.

There she was, on top of the guardian, trying to pull free a few items from its design—pieces that she thought might sell to some fop who wanted something sparkly in their living room. Aseri and Riila were standing to one side, clearly agitated by the need to stop again.

Even as Laerorith noted that the candles seemed quite noticeably greener than she remembered, the memory sputtered out, with Aso and Rototo leaving her to her scavenging, saying to each other that they would find something useful.

As the specters swept past her, a soft humming from in her pack caught her attention.

Laerorith perked up and dropped her goggles, oblivious to the way they crunched against the stone. Swinging her bags onto the ground, she opened the one who's leather still vibrated ever so faintly. As soon as she'd flipped up the top, green light washed over her.

~"~

Laerorith blinked as the green light dimmed in front of her. A single, small chunk of rock hovered in front of her, over her outstretched hand.

Around her, hundreds of other rocks floated in place, in a frozen spiral toward a sky that wasn't anything in her world. As weak as her magic senses were, she could feel it tumbling around her.

She was in the uppermost spire of Karazhan.

This was where she'd found Mr. Felpebble. With Roto and Asizi.

How had she gotten here?

Normally, not being able to remember was so typical that she just brushed it off, but this was different.

This was scary.

She'd never been good with magic, a disappointment to her father. He was a low ranking magister who acted as though he were second in command to Romulus himself. That one of his children could be so magic blind was a blight upon the family.

But here, when touching these little rocks, she'd been able to feel what she'd always missed. There was a power here. One that didn't require muscles and finesse. One that didn't mean she'd have to sacrifice herself to protect others as they hung back at a safe distance, casting their spells yards away or sneaking around behind something as it lashed out at her relentlessly.

Laerorith abruptly shivered.

She liked tanking. She'd always liked tanking. It was fun.

The crash of metal against metal, the adrenaline, the hazy red that she kept pushed back, always at the edge of her vision. Turning her pent up frustrations to forgotten incidents into something worthwhile, into strength.

She lived for the rush of the wind in her hair as she charged into combat, the way the air swirled around her as she lashed out and defended, as she taunted and dodged.

She might never conjure an ice bolt or mend a wound, but there was a magic of its own in what she did.

It was something far more precious than the spells her father was so disappointed that she couldn't cast.

_I want a spinny rock._

She heard her own voice echo through the air, sharp and clear as though she'd just spoken herself.

Feeling as if the rocks in the air had suddenly flooded to her stomach, she turned slowly, not wanting to see what memory was about to present itself to her. She was certain that something was wrong with them, that her friends hadn't been nearly so callous, but she couldn't remember them as they had been.

Whenever she thought of Rotolo or Ases, it was different. They were frowning.

Just as they were in this image.

Roisene closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose again. _Leave it alone, okay? It's useless._

_But it's pretty_, Laerorith's memory retorted, jerking Azreal over and climbing onto his shoulder so that she could reach one of them.

Azreal looked ready to toss her into the twisting nether. _They won't even float once we take them out of this place. Leave it._

"Stop it…" Laerorith whispered, taking a step back. Something bumped against her head and she whirled around to see one of the rocks—the rock she'd taken—floating there, it's color a brilliant, glittering green.

It's light was harsh, and Laerorith scowled, drawing her blade. "They were right! I shouldn't have taken you anywhere!"

The glow pulsed, almost as though it were speaking.

However, rather than a voice coming from the stone itself, suddenly she could hear Azreal talking again.

_I didn't bring you with me because it was a secret mission. You're not exactly good at being subtle._

_I could have helped._

_No, you couldn't have. Besides, it wasn't supposed to be a big deal. Roisene got it wrong._

"I could have helped," Laerorith whispered, whirling toward a spectral image of the troll. "I'm a tank. I should've been there to fight with you."

_More like you would've brought the whole vault down on us. In the end, you're just a nuisance._

Laerorith sucked in a sharp breath. Azreal had never said that. She knew. He was never that harsh. Maybe he did get tired of her from time to time, but he was never mean.

But it fit so perfectly with her memories.

They were all so…vivid.

She blinked.

Her memories were never this clear.

Gritting her teeth, Laerorith gripped her sword and whipped back toward the glowing rock. A crack resounded through the room as her blade smashed into the side of the stone. For a moment, there was a hint of resistance, and she thought she would have to strike it again, but then it shattered into thousands of little pieces.

As the glittering dust fell through the air, it sparkled around her. Laerorith felt a wave of relief wash over her. The harsh looks, the cruel words, they were fading.

And then she heard the other rocks around her begin to hum.


End file.
